


a thousand cuts

by nymja



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Break Up, F/M, Local Criminal "Dates" Galactic Hero, Nerdy Gumption Sara, Post-Break Up, Reyes POV, Slight Canon Divergence, Slowish burn with some pining, Smitten Reyes, spoilers through the end of the game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-10-16 13:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10572396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymja/pseuds/nymja
Summary: It's a fast discovery, born from a slow process: Sara Ryder could ruin him.--An expanded version of the Reyes/Sara romance storyline (with some things moved around).





	1. Prologue: First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ignitesthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitesthestars/gifts).



> Each chapter's going to follow events from the game, but I'll be adding and expanding scenes as I go along. For Fei on her (belated) birthday :D

The first rule for smuggling is to never be surprised by anything.

 

This one, he thinks, is not going to last long.

 

The young woman walks into the place like she doesn’t know it, eyes scanning from person to person. Over a few she hesitates, all questions in her eyes. He can imagine it now-- _Who are you?_ maybe, or something like _Tell me about life in Kadara._ Curiosity is charming just as long as it doesn’t get somebody shot.  
  


From his place in the corner, Reyes watches the Pathfinder watch. Her attention’s completely held by Umi and a Krogan patron going at it over an unresolved tab.

 

He suspects, based on intel and his own eyes, that this “Sara Ryder” is usually someone shot at.

 

…It would be best to make this exchange as quickly as possible. For all the prestige afforded the Pathfinder rank in this galaxy, there’s no desire to associate with someone interested in such a mundane thing as a knife in the counter of a bar. His mind skips over the Pathfinder, factors the pros and cons in establishing a working relationship, and crosses her off the list.

 

But, he’s still a professional. And the Angaran have tenuous feelings toward “the mouth” at best. He smooths his hair to the left, and puts on his most amiable face.

 

Showtime.

 

Every move is well rehearsed. The sauntered pace, the one hand carelessly on the bar. He makes it sound like there’s a smile on his face (even if there’s not), as he walks up and takes the space to her left.

 

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”

 

Up close, he does a more careful read. Pale skin, large blue eyes that he suspects (perhaps uncharitably) are always wide. And a…quaint ponytail, the end of it brushing against the scarf around her neck.

 

She’s on a field trip.

 

Discretely, he flicks two of the fingers resting against the bar. Umi, as she is, returns the subtle gesture by slamming two metal glasses on the counter with the grace of a drunken elcor. The Asari makes direct contact with his eyes before narrowing hers.

 

Reyes offers a small smile before taking one and offering the other to his short-term compatriot.

 

The Pathfinder’s brows raise. “I’ve got time for a drink.”

 

And then she takes it from him—a strange, unintroduced man in _Kadara Port_ —and clinks the cup against his before drinking a greedy, long pull.

 

He. He has no words.

 

Reyes feigns a drink from his own glass, scrutinizing her over its rim. All of his suspicious were proven so foundationally _correct_ with that one action. It’s making him doubt himself. Maybe she’s not naïve or foolhardy. Maybe she believes herself invincible.

 

Which would make associating with her far, _far_ more trouble than it was worth.

 

Recovery is seamless. He sets his glass down on the counter once more, reaches for her hand.

 

“Shena, but you can call me Reyes.” She takes his hand for a shake. Her grip is… _floppy._ “I hate codenames.”

 

“Uh.” Her hand drops, his follows suit. “I was expecting someone more…Angaran.”

 

He forces his best chuckle. “The Resistance pays me to supply information—among other things.”

 

“So you’re a smuggler.”

 

Reyes stares at her. He detects the slight hint of an edge with the statement, put so bluntly and simplistically that he truly does not know how to react. He has dealt with the no bullshitter type on Kadara, of course. But statements made by them were meant to provoke.

 

That was just…an observation. Maybe a _distasteful_ observation.

 

Reyes takes a step away from the bar, knowing movement will help redirect his thoughts. Put them back on track. He’s wasted enough time—the conversation needs to go to the job.

 

“Your man—Vehn Terev—was arrested by Sloane Kelly, leader of the Outcasts. Word spread about what he did to Moshae Sjefa.” He watches her carefully from the corner of his eyes. “The people are calling for his execution. And Sloane? She’s a woman of the people.”

 

“I like her already.”

 

He doubts, very much, that there is someone this Pathfinder _doesn’t_ like. “Well. She doesn’t like you.”

 

Her wide eyes blink. “She’s never met me.”

 

It is difficult, truly, to stop the snort. But he manages. As if that _mattered._ Fiddling his fingers, a rare tell, he does his best to spell it out as directly as he can. “You work for the Initiative. Sloane was part of the uprising on Nexus. I doubt she’ll give up Vehn easily.”

 

The Pathfinder seems to sit with that for a moment, and Reyes expects her to ask for his help-

 

Her chin tilts up a little. “I’m taking him—with or without her permission.”

 

Reyes is going to give her an hour on Kadara. Perhaps two.

 

Despite himself, he leans in. The confused amusement he honestly feels escapes into his words. “We’re going to be friends, you and I.”

 

It occurs to him, then, that while he has been observing the Pathfinder she has been observing _him._ Not in the subtle, calculating way he uses, or the hostile, narrow manner of Umi. Instead, she focuses straight at him—unwavering. There’s an interest on her part, though not the kind he typically intends to attract. Just. _Open._

 

He clears his throat. “There might be another way to get to Vehn. You work Sloane. I’ll talk to the Resistance.”

 

She stares at him. He looks back.  
For some reason, his collar is unbearably tight. Best to go.

 

He steps away, turning around without a goodbye. Barely gone five paces when he hears her voice calling out to him.

 

“How do I contact you if things go south?”

 

He pauses. Takes a breath. Reyes highly doubts there’s an “if” in this equation. He also doubts that the Pathfinder will survive long enough to come back to this bar.

 

Time to give the honest answer.

 

Reyes does a half turn, winks, and makes his leave.

 

He won’t be seeing her again.  
For the best, he's sure.


	2. Tripped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These first couple of chapters are going to follow the game pretty closely, but I'm planning to add some new scenes coming up ;). Thanks everyone for the kudos, comments, and bookmarks <3 !

There’s been another murder.

 

Reyes watches the gathering crowd discretely from his place by the merchant’s, making a show of scrolling through the console’s inventory. The dead Angara had been laying outside the supplies vendor for a little over an hour by his count, and reactions so far had been…disappointing. A body in the streets of Kadara was little more than gossip fuel, supported by several exiles making their way around the supine, bloodied corpse without a pause in their step.

 

Murdered Angara were _not_ to his advantage. Absently, Reyes began to purchase some new weapon mods as he kept an ear trained on the small crowd gathering. Already, he could make out…problematic accusations.

 

“Bet the Collective is behind this.”

 

“What, why?”

 

“Body showed up in Sloane’s territory, dinnit it? Practically on her door step-“

 

No. This wouldn’t do. A man was nothing without his reputation, and Reyes couldn't have the Charlatan's be so...sloppy.

 

“2,300 credits.”

 

Reyes looks up from the monitor, certain he didn’t hear the cost correctly. “For a scope?”

 

The Salarian’s eyes blink. One at a time. “Remember the upcharge on the last set of smuggled goods sold to me, Vidal. Upcharge in return—make square deal.”

 

Reyes makes a noncommittal hum, though he tries quickly to place the merchant’s name. Torkin? Morkin? “Surely, we can come to a better compromise than this?”

 

“3,000.”

 

“You wound me.”

 

The Salarian does not seem to care.

 

Reyes sighs, punching a few keys into his omni-tool. “I suppose a deal can be arranged…”

 

His words drop off as he hears a new voice in the background:

 

“It’s not that bad, Jaal.”

 

It takes him a minute to register the newcomer. He combs his internal database, registering a ponytail and wide eyes. The Pathfinder. Still somehow alive—the thought makes him want to smile in amusement.

 

Reyes transfers credits to the Salarian. “Keep the change.”

 

“Hmph,” Borkin replies.

 

Not moving from his spot in the shadows, Reyes leans against the bar of the vendor, crossing his arms over his chest and placing one foot over the other. Across the marketplace, the Pathfinder’s too-white armor glints in the sun, her comparatively tiny body flanked on either side by a grizzled Krogan in yellow and an Angara in blue who looks as though he’s desperately trying not to touch anything. It’s the latter that she appears to be in a debate with.

 

“There’s a corpse in the street, Sara,” the Angara explains patiently.

 

“A what- Shit!”

 

The laugh escapes Reyes before he can think better of it, as he watches the Pathfinder quite literally trip over the corpse. The toe of her boot catches its sprawled arm, her body pitching forward. It’s only the quick reaction time from her Angara companion that stops her from faceplanting against the grated street. He holds her for a moment too long before releasing her, and Reyes wonders how completely oblivious the Pathfinder is to her companion’s affections. Or if they're returned.

 

“Thanks,” she mutters, taking only a second to straighten herself out before she turns to the corpse. Reyes watches with interest, curious as to what this one’s reaction will be.

 

“Murder,” Sara says—though he’s not sure who she’s speaking to. “Angara.”

 

Then, her omni-tool does something…intriguing. Orange light emits from it, tracing over the body with a beep. She goes to question one of the guards-

 

…and Reyes thinks he’s seen enough. An idea starts to form in his mind.

 

That was one _expensive_ piece of tech. Perhaps the Pathfinder could still be of assistance to him. Hopefully, the woman hadn’t made any other friends in the port—his offer to her, made completely altruistically of course, was still on the table.

 

“You buying something else?” Borkin asks, and Reyes turns just in time to see his tongue wipe up toward his nose.

 

“No,” he smiles, “I think I’m done browsing for now.”

 

\--

 

It would be best practice, he knows, to stop asking questions about her. But despite himself, ever since learning that the Pathfinder had _curtsied_ to Sloane, she’d gone from lost cause to something of a miracle—in that she was still alive, of course. Maybe a curiosity, if he was feeling charitable.

 

Reyes, however, could not stop thinking about the tech.

 

“What do you know of the girl I was with the other day?” He asks Umi, whose upper lip pulls at the question.

 

“Who? The _Pathfinder_?” She doesn’t look up from the glass she’s cleaning, thoroughly unimpressed with him as she always is. “I know she wasn’t happy you stiffed her with the bill.”

 

Reyes makes an amused hum. He had almost forgotten about that—typically, it was one of his old moves to get people to remember him. People he was interested in. He thought about the Pathfinder again, mentally saw her re-tripping over the corpse.

 

…Perhaps he had done it subconsciously. Like muscle memory.

 

“And I know she and that Krogan fucked up my bar in their little brawl.”

 

 _That_ made him pause. He recalled the one in yellow from the marketplace. “The Krogan?”

 

“And the Pathfinder, yeah. Though they paid for the damage, unlike _some_ people.” She fixes him with a pointed stare, and Reyes lets out a small sigh.

 

“I really thought we put the McConnell Job behind us, my dear Umi.”

 

“Pay your damn tab, Vidal.”

 

Wordlessly, he signals his omnitool and transfers credits over to her—4,000 of them.

 

Umi huffs, slightly appeased.

 

“Tell me more about the fight,” Reyes probes.

 

She snorts. “Why, sweet on her? Don’t bother.”

 

While he is somewhat curious to why the Asari firmly believes he shouldn’t bother, he presses forward and the lie falls smoothly. “Could use some help on a run. It might be good to get an outsider’s perspective. _If_ they can hold their weight in a fight, of course.”

 

Umi’s hands still on the glass she’s cleaning, gaze spectating. Finally, she lets go of a sigh. “Give her a try, I hear she’s good at surprising people.”

 

Reyes considers this carefully, then gives a small nod before ordering another drink.

 

The Asari shakes her head as she hands it to him. “Though she probably won’t last long here if she keeps drinking everything I hand her.”

 

Reyes feels a smile briefly cross his face before he takes a sip of his own, remembering that he still owed her one.

 

\--

 

 _Tartarus_ is an ideal place for him. Not because of the lights, drinks, and certainly not the food, but because of the noise. Music pulses from every corner, people’s conversations thoroughly drowned out. The red lights which highlight the dancing cages pulse in turn, causing a disorienting effect. He stops by the bar before heading to his customary room.

 

“If it isn’t my favorite bartender,” he greets smoothly.

 

Kian smiles, not pausing from mixing a martini for a nearby Turian. “What do you want?” He asks good-naturedly, the garish lights from the club casting shadows along his profile.

 

Reyes transfers the man 400 credits—it’s beginning to become an expensive day. “The Pathfinder will be making her way here soon, see that she finds me with minimal trouble.”

 

Kian glances at his omnitool as he pours the drink. “Aren’t you generous today.”

 

He gives him his best grin, happy to see a quick effect on the man. “Curious, more like.”

 

“About the Pathfinder?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

Kian looks skeptical, but taps the acceptance of the transfer. “I’ll send her to your room, then?”

 

The Turian receiving the martini casts them both an interested look. Reyes gives a customary laugh accompanied by a wink.

 

“No, no. Let her find me.”

 

Kian rolls his eyes, but gives a brief salute that’s just a tad too rehearsed for a civilian.

 

\--

 

She takes longer than he expects. Reyes can only imagine her options for intel on this planet were limited, and part of him feels…put out? At having to wait for her to volunteer her services to him. If what he suspects about the woman is right, the Pathfinder will no doubt be wanting to solve the big case. Her curiosity somehow both delightful, amusing, and oh so entirely reckless.

 

It is late into the night and also his second drink when he hears the automated hiss of his room’s door. He watches carefully from his place on the couch, making a show of being distracted by an unimportant call.

 

The Pathfinder is…breathless. Her chest heaves in small movements under her armor, cheeks pink and hair slightly tousled. If he didn’t know any better, he would suspect she just-

 

The Krogan and the Angara charge in after her.

 

-ran. Yes, he supposes that makes more sense in this situation. He carefully moves his gaze from her chest before she thinks to accuse him of something ungentlemanly.

 

Her expression is hard for him to decipher, not quite excited. Determined? There is something about her that is now harder to read than it was their first meeting. But Reyes suspects she is no less gullible than before. Only phenomenally lucky.

 

Luck, he can use.

 

“Ryder!” He stands to greet her, the perfect host to her version of Kadara. “Glad you’re here, I’m sure you’ve heard about the murders.” Perhaps because he saw her trip over one.

 

Her lips part, everything about her so undeniably _animated._ “There’s a fresh body outside of Kralla’s.” A bar she has apparently become a local of. “Some of the locals say it’s the Charlatan’s handiwork.”

 

He has to breathe in for a count of three. _You’re a neutral party,_ he reminds himself. “I don’t buy it. The Charlatan is discrete, careful,” _Handsome,_ “whoever did this wanted the bodies found.”

 

They chat, for a bit. Her, throwing out every possible theory she can think of. Him, gently correcting and prompting her along to the path he wants her to find. The woman is impulsive, to say the least. Accusing the Charlatan, then Sloane, before he directs her into considering the Roekaar.

 

She…trusts him. Everything he says, she takes in, absorbs. _Believes._ He has had easy marks before, but something about this one feels like sand underneath his boots—one false step, and he’ll lose whatever traction he has.

 

Her compatriots remain silent by her side, watching. The Krogan and Angara both, he thinks, won’t hesitate to shoot him.

 

When he finally feels confident in her support of his conclusion, he makes his move. “The problem is that I’ve got no proof, and the Resistance doesn’t want to antagonize the Roekaar.”

 

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. His eyes drift to her neck. “Guess that’s where I come in?”

 

 _And where I see if you’re worth keeping around._ “I need that fancy AI of yours to scan for evidence that could implicate the Roekaar.”

 

It says so much that she doesn’t react. She doesn’t try to hide the fact that she has privileged tech to a thief, or wonder how he knows this information on his own.  Instead she continues the conversation, seamless and seemingly without guile.

 

Then, he makes his roll of the dice. Reyes is a gambling man, and he thinks he knows the argument that will sell her.

 

“People are scared, Ryder. This is your opportunity to win friends in Kadara Port.”

 

Her response…throws him.

 

Meeting his eyes, she smiles. It’s a small thing, a bare tug in the corner of her lip. But he watches it, and her tone shifts, just barely. “I sound pretty integral to this plan.”

 

If she was anyone else in Tartarus, he might interpret it as a pass. But she couldn’t possibly…

 

He keeps his voice flat. “SAM is integral.” And, because he honestly cannot help himself. “You’re a bonus.”

 

She doesn’t react to the second part. And he pointedly doesn’t feel disappointment. “Hey, I haven’t agreed to help you yet.”

 

 _You did when you found this room._ He leans in, giving the best impression of an amiable ally. “I feel good about my chances.”

 

She looks up at him. He stares for a moment, before continuing on with the act.

 

“Give me a call when you get there.”

 

And, because this suddenly feels too close and he is very aware of her still-flushed cheeks, he sits back in the couch. A clear dismissal.

 

The Pathfinder continues to stare at him, her head tilting to the side. He doesn’t like that he feels appraised. Finally, she smiles, wide and showing her teeth—it’s so genuine that it makes him uncomfortable.

 

“Alright, we’ll stop them.” She brings up her armored hand, wiggles a few of her fingers in a wave. “Wait for my call.”

 

He nods, and she is _running_ out the door again.

 

As soon as she’s gone, he finishes his drink, and his eyes stay on the spot where she stood. His head tilts back to rest against the sofa.

 

The Pathfinder is always on the move. He supposes he can respect that—especially since it’s toward his advantage.

 

The thought crosses his mind that he hopes she survives the Badlands, but the gambling side of him doesn’t put much faith in it.


	3. Melee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure if SAM's voiceovers are always private or not, but I decided to make them public in this chapter for Rule of Fun. hope you enjoy :D 
> 
> ...also, in my playthrough, sara was quite the brawler ;)

She hasn’t called.

 

Which shouldn’t matter. But as he lifts his upper body from the floor his eyes dart to the discarded omni-tool resting on top of a storage crate. Its screen is disappointingly blank.

 

Reyes falls back into his sit-up. Exhales. Lifts his body again. _96…_

 

The lack of forward momentum on the Roekkar case is going to have severe complications for him later.

 

_97._

 

The least she could do is check in. As a professional courtesy.

 

_98._

 

Unless she had been killed, of course.

 

_99._

 

He supposes it would be unreasonable of him to expect a call if she had been murdered.

 

_100._

 

His eyes moved to the omni-tool again. Still blank. He took another long exhale before continuing his sit-up count.

 

_101._

 

It was also possible that she had simply…blown his request off.

 

_102._

 

Which meant he had misread her.

 

_103._

 

Which he simply did not do. If he misread someone like the Pathfinder, he was cutting serious corners in his approach.

 

_104._

 

He entertains, briefly, the thought of hailing her comm first. See how the investigation is proceeding.

 

_105._

 

Or if she’s been murdered.

 

But he doesn’t think Reyes Vidal, smuggler, would have such a concentrated investment.

 

_107._

 

Unlike the Charlatan, the man being framed for said murders.

 

_108._

 

No. He couldn’t call. This had to play delicately or not at all.

 

_109._

 

But he also couldn’t wait.

 

_110._

 

Reyes stills, his abdomen still lifting up and down in slow movements as he attempts to catch his breath. He runs a hand through his now unkempt hair, fixing it back into place as he presses his lips into a thin line.

 

Eventually, he comes to the rational conclusion that the delay is his fault. It was an essential rule of business that one didn’t outsource to a partner who had no skin in the game. The Pathfinder, for all her wide eyes and bouncy ponytails, couldn’t be depended on to follow through on Kadara matters.

 

Disappointing. But not worth becoming angry over.

 

 _You didn’t even pay her,_ reminds a nagging corner of his thoughts.

 

He hadn’t. In retrospect, the task had been handled poorly. Reyes’ lips morph into a frown—he was usually more careful in these matters.

 

He stands, brushing off the dirt from the warehouse floor. The space is one of his many rented ones, off grid and off books. And naturally immune to Sloane’s protection charges. He grabs the towel next to the omni-tool, wiping at his neck, arms, and chest as a solution works itself through his mind.

 

Trusting the Pathfinder to do this efficiently had been a mistake. Oversight, on his part. There was no remedying that now.

 

Reyes shrugged on his underlay shirt.

 

There is also no point dwelling on something he can do himself.

 

\--

 

Asking a direct question on Kadara has three potential outcomes. One, the inquirer could be shot. Two, they could be laughed at. Three, they could be shot. The best approach was to leave the breadcrumbs, have some sort of carrot prepared to feed intel in. Reyes is quite skilled at that, but that approach also takes time. Finesse.

 

The first he does not have, the second he is never without.

 

So in these trying times, he must resort to calling in favors.

 

“You’ve been busy,” Keema greets without preamble, her voice carrying its usual light amusement.

 

Reyes smiles up at the console screen. On its other end, Keema stands, her image somewhat grainy. The Angara representative to Sloane, naturally, seems to have been expecting him.

 

“As you know, I’m a fan of keeping my hands occupied.”

 

She makes a sound crossed somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, but returns the smile. “To what do I owe an untraceable call?”

 

Reyes’ smile remains in place, his tone playful. “I hear there’s been some littering in the marketplace. Sloane can’t be pleased.”

 

Keema’s expression flickers from amiable to drawn, then back again. “Yes…though I imagine it will be thrown out eventually.”

 

He leans against the console, crossing his arms loosely in front of his chest. “Then tell me where to find the nicest dump.”

 

\--

 

Roughly two hours later, navpoints are patched through to his omni-tool. The receiver channel is scrambled, much like the account that Reyes transfers credits to, but both belong to Keema.

 

It’s good to have friends in convenient places.

 

The Roekkar hideout is, unfortunately, not as convenient. It’s a two-day trek through the Badlands before Reyes comes into range, another two days to case the entrance to the caverns. It’s in the middle of the second day when he hears a burst through his comm channel.

 

“ _Reyes, I’m at the crime scene._ ”

 

It’s her. The Pathfinder.

 

He does not _startle._ Rather, he quickly retreats from his surveillance point, ducking down behind shrubbery. As though he were a child attempting to avoid being caught by a parent for curfew. Or a group of murderous, human-hating angara. The point stood, either way.

 

It is relief that forms the smile on his face when he hails her in return. Perhaps she isn’t quite worthless. “Great. I’ve got intel on our dead guy.” Which he had also paid Keema a rather high amount of credits for. “Krogan male. Went by the name of Zear.” And, because he is a detail man at heart: “Frontal plate was pried off before he was shot to death.”

 

“ _Poor bastard.”_

 

Then, the Krogan: “ _Not one of mine.”_

 

There is no time for condolences. It’s clear that something as simple as a civilian murder will detract the Pathfinder from the role he needs her to play. So he course corrects.

 

“Do your scanning thing. Look for anything that might lead us to the killer.”

 

There’s the sound of chirping on the other side.

 

 _“Angaran footprints lead this way,”_ she informs him.

 

He bites the inside of his cheek. He cannot _see_ which way from a comm link. “See where they go.”

 

More chirping. “ _A knife. Killer must’ve dropped it during the getaway. Something’s carved into the blade.”_

 

A blunt murder instrument? Dramatic. And amateur clean-up at best.

 

He hears someone speaking in the background—the Pathfinder’s angaran companion?—before the voice of an AI cuts across it.

 

“ _We do not know if the wielder was angaran. An exile could have stolen the blade.”_

 

Except, of course, Reyes did know. “It’s a start.”

 

The AI sounds again. “ _These footsteps are distinctly angaran._ ”

 

Yes. Reyes knows _._

 

The Pathfinder replies to the AI before Reyes can. “ _I can count at least three attackers. The tracks look like an ambush.”_

 

Reyes stares down at the three Roekkar moving to and from their base below his vantage point on the hill. “Fits the Roekkar profile.” She is getting mired in the details. He decides it’s time for another prod. “Keep scanning. We need hard evidence.”

 

Another chirp. The Pathfinder’s voice is calm. _“Angaran blood near the corpse. Matches your Roekkar theory, Reyes.”_

 

He smiles. Sounds like DNA evidence.

 

The AI contributes, “ _This DNA along with the inscription and footsteps supports the theory proposed by Mr. Vidal, Pathfinder.”_

 

Mr. Vidal. Now that one was new. Reyes collapsed happily on the ground, a small amount of relief filling him at having concentrated proof in hand. The tech had delivered, despite his reservations on it and its handler.

 

Devious smile growing, he brought the omni-tool to his lips. “Let’s pay our local Roekaar a visit.”

 

_“You know where they are?”_

 

The _skepticism_ in the Pathfinder’s voice is not appreciated. “I wasn’t sitting on my ass the whole time. I’m looking at the place now.”

 

There is a certain…authority in the Pathfinder’s next words that he wasn’t expecting. “ _Send me the coordinates. These murders stop today!”_

 

He blinks, before shaking his head. Touching, truly. But time to move this along. “Anything to assist, Pathfinder-“

 

Static.

 

She hung up on him.

 

Reyes’ lips part slightly. After a second of recovery, he types the navpoint in. Once he’s certain it’s been confirmed, he looks back down at the entry point to the Roekaar hideout.

 

Times like these, it’s best to wait.

 

But he’s a betting man. And the odds aren’t in their favor.

 

\--

 

Reyes waits until the forward party leaves to sneak in. The matter of breaking and entering, of planting demolitions, of playing dirty, are all well-worn and familiar.

 

While the tech might have come through for him in finding evidence for murder, Reyes has less belief in the Pathfinder’s abilities to survive a firefight.

 

…though he isn’t quite sure why that survival means anything to him. The Pathfinder’s presence on Kadara is clearly not to his benefit.

 

He is just placing the finishing touches when he hears the door hiss open. Quickly, he rolls forward for cover, finding purchase behind a metal storage container. A few taps on his omni-tool, and his cloaking device fires. His finger rests on the trigger of his sniper rifle, ready to fire on the returning Roekaar.

 

They file in, one by one. And Reyes has lined up a perfect shot, just before they are to cross the second set of doors, when-

 

The Pathfinder comes strutting through after them like she owns the place. Reluctantly, Reyes releases his triggerfinger.

 

“Damn it,” he mutters to himself. She’s quickly becoming more trouble than she’s worth. And certainly has no sense of subtlety.

 

“Reyes should be here,” she states, walking right past his hiding spot.

 

He shakes his head. At this point, he honestly does not know if he’s exasperated or amused. The angara and krogan follow directly behind her—the former sending a quick glance in his direction but making no further movement toward it.

 

The AI speaks. “I detect no sign of Mr. Vidal, Pathfinder. Should we proceed without him?”

 

Something unsettles him when the Pathfinder looks _upset_ at the suggestion. “That’s not-!”

 

And the Roekaar turn around. Blasters are aimed quickly at kill zones for the Pathfinder and her companions. He has to resist the urge to groan when her hands raise in the air in surrender.

 

“Were we too loud?” She asks, and his brows draw together at the _silly_ grin she has accompany her question.

 

“Shut up,” one of the Roekaar grunts. “Farah will deal with you.”

 

Reyes watches as the Pathfinder’s team is corralled in front of the Roekaar guards, their blasters pointed firmly at their backs. He counts to ten before he follow them deeper into the cavernous base, making sure to tread lightly.

 

He needs the Roekaar taken out. There’s no turning back now.

 

\--

 

Reyes misses whatever conversation is taking place, but takes the shot when he sees the Roekaar leader raise a knife to the Pathfinder. Shoot first, clean up later has always been a favorite policy.

 

He makes his way quickly down the stairs, gun at the ready and eyes trained ahead. His military training not _entirely_ put to waste.

 

“Not so fast.” Reyes crouches beside the Pathfinder, knowing she will undoubtedly need the cover.

 

She _crosses her arms._ “You’re late.”

 

He was four days early. But belaboring the point means missing an opportunity for showmanship. And he is _such_ a fan of showmanship. “I’ve got a good reason. You’ll see in three…” he discretely taps the detonator.

 

“Don’t just stand there!” Barks the leader, showing him her back. _Tsk-tsk._

 

“Two,” he continues, adrenaline beginning to spike.

 

“Kill them-!”

 

 _ **Bam**_!

 

The explosives go off, knocking several of the Roekaar to the ground. Reyes can’t help but smirk, looking over his shoulder.

 

“Still mad-?”

 

But the Pathfinder is a blur of white-tinted armor, rolling forward and arming herself faster than he would have anticipated.

 

“DOWN!” She screams.

 

He reacts out of instinct-

 

And the air around him floods in purple light, the hairs on the back of his neck and arms sticking straight up. Energy accumulates around the Pathfinder, lifting her feet slowlyfrom the ground. And then a wave emits, followed by an aftershock. Reyes watches with wide eyes as she _tears_ through Roekaar with one, concentrated assault of biotic energy. Five go down immediately, another is catapulted into the rocked ceiling.

 

He is momentarily thrown off-guard, until he hears returning blaster fire. Reyes moves with muscle memory, crouching behind a rock. Compartmentalizing the sheer force of the woman, he shifts, taking careful aim with his scope.

 

The head of an advancing Roekaar comes into view. Steady, steady…

 

“HRNGH!” A flash of white descends into his crosshairs. He stares as the Pathfinder falls from a booster-enhanced jump, omni-knife glowing orange and embedding itself straight into the Roekaar’s neck. Strands of her hair fall from her ponytail, her face completely focused and _alert_ in a way that does something to the pit of his gut.

 

“Holy shit,” Reyes whispers, breathless and with slightly weak knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how the turntables...


	4. Ryder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for the great response to the fic so far! got some expanded scene stuff happening :D

When the smoke clears, there are eighteen dead Roekaar and Reyes has to try _very_ hard not to feel rattled. Not because of the fight—no, such things are small change in the grand scope of things. He doesn’t even have a scratch on him, the only casualty a slight muss to his hair. It’s adrenaline, but from a different source that he’s more than familiar with.

 

He just…never expected _her_ to be the source of it.

 

Reyes crosses his arms as he stands to the side, the railing supporting him as he watches the Pathfinder bend over her Angaran friend. The man is nursing a nasty burn gash on his left arm—maybe a clipped shotgun charge. She blows out thick chunks of her hair from her face, nose wrinkled as she smiles at the Angaran and he overhears bits and pieces of their exchange. She’s telling him about a run she did for Prothean artifacts, explaining about omnigel and its benefits as she patches him up. The Angaran looks at her, rapt, and Reyes doesn’t exactly commiserate. But maybe he now sees how the Pathfinder is not a complete waste of time to those she comes into contact with.

 

After a moment, the Pathfinder stands, her armored fingers toying with the fasten of her failed ponytail. A wave of brown hair falls over her shoulders and his mouth feels the slightest bit dry as he watches her comb it back into place, retying it at the top of her head.

 

Maybe she notices his stare, or feels it, because she turns to look at him. Snorts and rolls her shoulders. “Guess that could’ve gone better.”

 

There’s a smudge of something across her cheek. And he needs to say something before he gives away that he’s discovered something new in the firefight.

 

Reyes grins, pushes himself away from the railing and starts walking up the landing with her—her companions close behind.

 

He feels… _amicable._ In a way he hasn’t before. The Roekaar had been a constant pain in his side, and while the Pathfinder’s approach was different from his own it wasn’t any less effective. Maybe a blunt hammer does open the same door as a lockpick.

 

Reyes gives a short laugh of relief—today is, after all, a _good_ day. “The streets of Kadara are safe again.” He pauses, tries it out mentally before speaking it. “You did good, Ryder.”

 

 _Ryder._ Yes. That already feels more appropriate—distant, but friendly. Something that will allow him to pave the way for a future contact, now that he’s decided he could find uses for her in the field. He smiles before he can stop it—not his sly usual one, but the real one. A little uncomfortable for the dimensions of his face.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll let all the important people know who to thank.” _Thank you,_ he adds mentally.

 

His good mood appears to be infectious—Ryder stops from her place in front of him and turns. A smile spreads across her lips as she gives a small shrug.

 

“We make a good team.”

 

Not having stopped in his own exit, Reyes leans in close as he goes to pass her. “Careful—I’ll start thinking you like me.”

 

Ryder tilts her chin. He is not a tall man, but she still needs to look up to meet his gaze. The streak on her cheek runs parallel to a line of freckles. Yes, there’s definitely adrenaline now.

 

Her brows go up, like she doesn’t understand why that’s something she needs to be careful of. “Would that be so bad?”

 

He brushes his thumb over the smudge, almost lazily. “Depends.”

 

Her eyes widen.

 

He doesn’t try to hide the teasing interest in his tone. “Don’t be a stranger, Ryder.”

 

Reyes leaves without turning around. Part of him doesn’t want to gauge how well the exit lands. A larger part of him knows that there’s work to be done, as there always is.

 

\--

 

He decides there’s a need to learn more about his new friend. Seriously, this time.

 

Reyes has several hideouts, but this one in the Badlands is a favorite. There was just something about a thick miasma of sulfurous air that made him feel at home. He couldn’t immediately satisfy his curiosity—there were bargains to solidify, orders to pass down. But after he keys in a cargo manifesto for some stolen, Initiative goods, he curls up on his chair with a good round of intel.

 

Hacking into the Initiative servers isn’t an issue anymore, and once he’s passed a few rudimentary firewalls it becomes clear that the human Pathfinder is literally an open book. Service record (recon specialist, one with a reputation for _brawling_ ), professional experience (Prothean artifact excavation), and personal (father, dead on Habitat 7; brother, hospitalized). All within a touch or two of the omni-tool.

 

The rosters for the ship under her command amused him. Two near-locals to Kadara (Vetra, he knew to be a damn good smuggler), the Angaran (Jaal), a few Initiative humans…if there was a patterned behavior to those Ryder deemed associates, Reyes would be damned to find it.

 

His gloved fingers tap against the readout.

 

Really, this is enough to give him an idea. No immediate flags to indicate a lack of trustworthiness on Ryder’s part. No connections to Kadara beyond a few of her companions’ occasional business dealings.

 

She could be a solution to what he needs in the move against Sloane.

 

Reyes leans in his seat, craning his neck until it rests against the back of it. Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh from between his teeth.

 

As a general rule, he never allows himself to get invested in possibilities.  
But he does enjoy the idea of potential. And having Ryder as a business partner might allow for some new ones.

 

\--

 

The next day, he doesn’t quite know what to make of Umi’s skeptical look. “It’s true,” he defends lightly, shifting in his seat. The fan above them does little to stir fresh air into Kralla’s Song. “I was there, you know.”

 

The asari shakes her head, dragging a rag over the counter. “What I don’t get is why you think I’d care.”

 

“The Roekaar were leaving bodies in the marketplace.”

 

“But not in my bar.”

 

Reyes hums, conceding the point. “I made a deal to the good Pathfinder. Told her I’d let the important people know about the assist.”

 

“And your idea of an important person is…”

 

Reyes leans forward. Smiles patiently. “I happen to know who makes Kaetus’s favorite cocktails.”

 

Umi rolls her eyes. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m bringing anything to Sloane’s people _from you._ ”

 

He lifts his hands. “It will be to a mutual benefit, I’m sure.” His tone goes shrewd. “Or is the Kett problem just a rumor?”

 

Umi’s attention is grabbed, no doubt despite herself. “What’s Ryder got on the Kett?”

 

“A gun, I imagine.”

 

“And what’s in it for you?” Umi asks with an edge.

 

He makes a show of considering. “For now, just let it be known I have an eye for talent.”

 

“Ugh _._ ”

 

"...and maybe a drink before I go?"

 

" _Ugh._ "

 

\--

 

She doesn’t quite fade from mind over the course of the next week. Reyes lays the groundwork, but the plans he has are going to need time to mature before they can take root. From his intel, it seems like Umi made good on telling Kaetus about Ryder’s unique ability to effectively stab first, question later. From his intel, he also knows that Kaetus had all but laughed in the bartender’s face. A setback, but not one that was unaccounted for. Reyes needs Ryder close to Sloane. To do that, Ryder’s going to have to make something of herself here. Just like he did.

 

So he does what he can to send her in the right directions. He tells those who typically come to him for contract work to ask for the Pathfinder instead.  He patches distress calls to her comm through off-server sources. Has his contacts report on her progress. So far, all of his careful effort has only amounted to solving a situation with a wind turbine and scanning a few bogwater-logged corpses. Helpful to the people who need it, but not enough to make a reputation.

 

…he is beginning to realize how wrong he was, to assume he once knew what to make of her.

 

With his orchestration decidedly _not_ taking place face to face, he is therefore thrown when, approximately two weeks after the Roekaar base, Ryder is in _Tartarus._ He doesn’t notice her at first, or at all, as he enters the club that has become his base of operations away from home. The music isn’t particularly assaulting tonight, just a high-tempo riff that has all the dancers making what he is certain are good tips. The lights in the club are low, stained purple and red from the neon accents, and he feels himself deflate as he takes his customary walk up the stairs to his room. The door of it shuts behind him, and the dancing crowd is given no mind or attention.

 

It’s not until later, about half a drink and trade deposition in, that a message pings at his wrist. Quickly, so as not to be distracted from his work, Reyes punches in the code to unlock it.

 

_Reyes—_

_Do I get 400 credits for watching the girl again?_

_\--Kian_

 

Reyes rifles through his memories. He doesn’t remember a hostage or kidnapping-

 

He does, however, eventually remember the credit amount. It’s what he tipped the bartender to direct Ryder to him. She was here? Why? Reyes closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Before him lay several encrypted files and datadecks, all of which involve movement on Sloane. _Shit._

 

He makes fast work of hiding the files, before he stands and types a fast response.

 

_Kian—_

_I prefer to handle tonight myself._

_\--Reyes._

 

\--

 

It takes him a moment to find the Pathfinder in the crowd, initially because he is looking for Ryder in her customary white armor. He is not expecting to find her by the bar, swaying and emphatically listening to a drunk turian as an asari stabilizes her with an arm around the waist.

 

From his place on the railing, his eyes follow Ryder’s movements like a hawk—tensing and anticipating her eventual shuffle to the stairs that lead to his room. But she doesn’t move toward it. Instead, she stays by the bar for a while longer, slamming down every drink that is offered to her. Reyes keeps mental tabs on who is giving her what, in the event of an incident. The krogan and angaran are not flanking her, instead she’s out with a turian he recognizes as Vetra, and an asari with a streak of dark paint across her eyes.

 

The streak reminds him, almost fondly, of the one across Ryder’s cheek. But the thought passes as soon as he sees Ryder talking to Kian.

 

_Time to put an end to this._

 

As much as Ryder is allowed to drink with her friends wherever she chooses, it wouldn’t hurt to remind her that this was _his_ typical haunt. And to stop Kian from sharing any details Reyes didn’t want to share.

 

But as Reyes approaches her through the crowd, it’s not conspiracy on Kian’s face, but interest. The bartender is listening with full attention at the woman in front of him, as her arms go wide and her voice lets out a soft laugh that somehow pierces the reverberating music of the club. Reyes frowns, eyes casing the room to look for Ryder’s companions—he makes note of Vetra talking with known contacts in the corner of the club, and the asari challenging a krogan to an arm-wrestling contest across the dance floor.

 

Ryder is alone. Relatively. Since Kian, it seems, is more than happy to keep her company.

 

Reyes doesn’t _stalk,_ exactly, but he does make his approach quiet. Curious, as to what their conversation is before he invades.

 

“-and then I waded through sulfuric acid to make sure it was the right body-“

 

She’s not wearing armor, he realizes. Her civilian clothes are the customary pants, jacket, and scarf, her gloved fingers dancing through the air as she continues her story. Kian _laughs._

 

“Ugh, don’t laugh! It burned _right through_ and-“

 

“What brings you to _Tartarus_?” Reyes cuts in as he steps in behind her. The question is whispered in her ear and calm as ever.

 

Ryder turns around, and she is…

 

Drunk. Absolutely so.

 

“Hey!” She greets, breaking out into a toothy smile. Her eyes shin with reflected club lighting, her cheeks are flush.

 

“Hello yourself,” he counters, looking over her shoulder at Kian. The two men catch eyes, and the bartender nods before moving on to another set of customers. “Have you been in Kadara Port long?”

 

Ryder shakes her head. “No, I was just telling-“ her nose wrinkles. “Shit, forgot his name. Hold on-“ she turns. “ _Shit,_ he’s not here.”

 

“The bartender?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What were you telling him?”

 

“Oh, about the bodies.” She shakes her head. “Not that important anymore. Unfortunately.”

 

So there’d been no movement after the scanning job. Instead, Ryder had decided to come here and drink unattended beverages. Reyes leans toward her. She sways a little, but doesn’t move otherwise.

 

“Heard there’s been quite a lot of trouble out there in the wastes. Taking care of yourself?”

 

“Why, are you worried?”

 

Her tone makes his head snap down, the two of them looking at one another eye to eye. That had sounded…suggestive. If he didn’t know better. Reyes thinks back to the fight. Ryder is still grinning.

 

It dawns on him that she’s waiting for his reply.

 

“It’s important in Kadara to watch out for new friends,” he offers.

 

Ryder shifts forward. “So we’re friends?”

 

The slightest of pauses. “Of course.”

 

She laughs, an uninhibited (inebriated) sound that draws the attention of two or three onlookers. Before he can do anything, she’s grabbing his wrist.

 

“Then let’s dance, friend.”

 

This…is not how his evening is supposed to be going. But Reyes knows that keeping Ryder occupied on the dance floor of _Tartarus_ is leagues better than her asking what he’s been up to, so he follows without resistance. She leads him to the dance floor, drops his wrist, and continues on a few steps before stopping herself. The space she’s left makes it clear that though they’re dancing together, they’re not dancing _together._ Something that makes little difference to Reyes as he effortlessly matches his movements to the music and keeps his eyes on her.

 

She isn’t graceful. Ryder moves as though she is limitless energy, eyes closed and all limbs moving. It’s not meant to be seductive like the dances in the cages—rather, it’s something unrestrained. As if she’s claimed the floor for herself and is going to do what she wants with it. She matches rhythm, but he imagines it’s an accident of convenience.

 

Her hair falls into her face, Ryder smiles to herself. He realizes, gradually as another song starts playing, that he is having a difficult time looking away.

 

…and that he’s not the only one.

 

Not wanting Ryder’s attention fully diverted for the evening, Reyes steps closer. He doesn’t touch, but the new proximity is enough to deter some of the half-started advances toward her.

 

It’s about the work, he rationalizes. _Tartarus_ doesn’t attract the safest of one-night stands. One of his once stabbed him through the ear.

 

Ryder opens her eyes, stares at him with her smile still in place.

 

…It’s about the work.

 

Eventually, Ryder tires. When she does, she makes a rather undignified collapse on a nearby seating area. He follows, carefully. Now would be the logical time to make his exit, to act as though he’s been called away by something or someone else.

 

Instead, he’s still curious. “Why are you here?”

 

Ryder sags against the sofa. “Had to blow off some steam.”

 

That was one way to do it. “What for?”

 

She shakes her head. “Bad run in the marketplace. An angaran was looking for her sister. I volunteered to help.”

 

Reyes finds a seat next to her. “You weren’t successful?”

 

“No, I was.”

 

“Where was she?”

 

Ryder looks down. “Under a grate.”

 

Reyes watches her carefully, noticing new signs that were apparent before this revelation. Her eyes have dark shadows under them, her lower lip has a red tint to it from biting down. This, he understands. It's the Kadara he wants to get rid of.

 

“Call for another drink then,” he offers.

 

She stares at him with slightly bleary eyes. “Are you going to leave me with the tab again?”

 

He makes a show of wincing. “I’ll be on my best behavior, this round.”

 

Ryder, he is deciding, makes him uncomfortable. Her gaze is open and vulnerable, far too trusting for someone who doesn’t know the pieces he is moving on the board. Her cheeks are still flush from whatever she’s been drinking and dancing. It’s clear to him, in that moment, that she is attractive in an objective sort of way. She is bright eyes and easy smiles, frustratingly gullible and endlessly tenacious. His eyes dart to her lips—a terrible, terrible idea.

 

“Reyes?”

 

He looks up. “Yes?”

 

Ryder yawns. “I think I’ll have to pass on the drink. Duty calls in the morning.”

 

There’s a sense of…of not being _done_ that he doesn’t like. But to voice it is ridiculous, and so he only gives his best understanding nod.

 

“Take care, Ryder.”

 

She stands, giving him a mock salute that is just a little unbalanced. “Back at you, Reyes.”

 

He watches her until the door closes, wishing he didn't feel the need to.

 


	5. Popcorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG ;; i love you all <3

It’s not stalking if it’s reconnaissance. Or so Reyes tells himself, as he watches Ryder from a safe distance across the port’s marketplace. For once, she isn’t flanked by her usual companions--the enamoured angaran, the grizzly krogan, the trouble-making asari. It’s just her, in full armor.

 

Bartering for...popcorn, if his tap is as clear as he thinks it is.

 

For a moment he just watches, a hand loosely on his sidearm as his omnitool picks up recorded static from the conversation she’s having with a merchant.

 

“Wait, it’s _how_ much?” Comes her incredulous voice on the feed.

 

The human says something in return.

 

“But, uh...I’m the Pathfinder?”

 

Reyes smiles to himself as he listens. She’s probably just guaranteed a 20% rise in price.

 

“Okay, okay. Fine, you win. I’ll pay.”

 

From where he watches, he sees Ryder blow a chunk of hair up and away from her face. Her face is screwed into an expression of disbelief and he most definitely does not want to have to kill her.

 

But he might. And that is...an unfortunate truth.

 

It’s been about a week since he last ran into her at Tartarus, a carefully planned avoidance that was, regrettably, more for clearing his head than a need for tactical retreat. Ever since the incident with the Roekaar, something’s changed. And he can’t quite put a label to it other than _fondness._

 

Which was why, last night, he had poured himself an uncustomary fourth drink when he read the latest reports from his operatives.

 

Sara Ryder, and two of her friends, had entered the Collective Base. _His_ base---well, one of them anyway. As the territory had been regulated to one of his higher ranking subordinates, his knowledge of what Ryder was doing there, and what she found out, were still unclear. Keema had promised to follow up with Crux through the network, but he had to know for himself if the Charlatan’s operations were compromised.

 

And, from there, decide what to do. To what end, he was unsure. Or, perhaps more honestly, hesitant to be sure.

 

But he had brought a sidearm. If needed, he was prepared to use it, no matter how much he personally resisted the outcome.

 

Reyes looks up as he hears her give a parting goodbye to the merchant, her arms full of old cardboard boxes he never thought to see again. Reyes presses his lips together, watching her smile and even wave at some of the acquaintances she had made at the Port. No doubt all of them would shoot her without hesitation if the circumstances required it.

 

So why did he feel...responsible for her?

 

Before he could rationalize an answer, she approached, still not noticing his presence against another stall.

 

So he cleared his throat. “Ryder.”

 

She pauses in her steps, looks up. Meets his gaze and he feels incredibly uncertain about what he’s come to this market to do.

 

And then she groans, one of her armored hands covering her face. “Great. It’s _you_.”

 

 _This_ makes him pause. Reyes tilts his head and forces levity into his tone. “Now, now. Here I thought we were friends.”

 

She peeks at him behind the gaps of armored fingers. “How much of an ass was I the other night?”

 

He blinks as he tries to puzzle her meaning. “At...Tartarus?”

 

“Yeah, guess I had too much to drink.” She winces. “Some guy named Kian won’t stop sending me omni-messages.”

 

Reyes files this note for later.

 

She somehow winces further. “And I might have made out with a krogan. Allegedly.” She sends him a Look, as if they’re conspirators. “Allegedly according to PeeBee, that is.” And then her face softens, nervous. “So nothing weird? At you, I mean?”

 

He gives a soft laugh, and actually means it. “You were nothing but a professional colleague.”

 

She finally drops the glove covering her hand. “Phew. I would’ve thought for sure-” Her ears color, slightly red. “-Well. Phew, anyways.”

 

He raises a brow, falls into step with her. “You had concerns?”

 

“Not about you.” She clears her throat. “Uh, more like. Me at you.” Her ears are _positively_ red now and Reyes is…

 

Intrigued. Despite himself, and the fact that he might be here to kill her. “Ryder, if I didn’t know any better this might sound like you’re interested.”

 

Ryder laughs. “No! No, nothing like that. Just, uh. Glad I didn’t overstep any boundaries or anything.” In a move that is completely cringe-inducing yet somehow endearing, she waggles her eyebrows. “Apparently my drunk tastes run more...Drack-y.” She looks vaguely green. “God that krogan better not have been Drack. I’ll kill PeeBee.”

 

He smiles and it doesn’t quite fit his face. “Judging from what I saw of you that night,” he lowers his head until they are eye-to-eye, “I would guess your friend is playing you.”

 

She blinks, jerking back a little. “Which friend?”

 

“PeeBee, of course.”

 

“What a relief.” She grins, nudges him with her arm. “Anyway you want some popcorn? I paid about four guns for it, so I’m sure it’s mediocre.”

 

He takes a box, only because she offered. “Big plans this evening?”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Maybe, if they stop having me run errands for five minutes.”

 

“They?”

 

“My crew.” Her grin widens, all teeth. “You haven’t met all of them yet, have you?”

 

“I haven’t had the pleasure.” Nor the desire.

 

“Maybe we’ll get around to that one day, then. Once you’re done being a shady, smuggling bastard and all.”

 

Reyes flips the box over in his hands. “Such an occasion would warrant celebration, I’m sure.”

 

Ryder gives him a look he can’t decipher. “Hey, I don’t mean anything by that.” Again that grin is on her face. “Some of my favorite people are shady, smuggling bastards.”

 

The line of conversation is taking a turn he hasn’t anticipated--one that’s not desired. So he redirects. “And krogan, apparently.”

 

“Ouch. I deserved that.”

 

As they walk, he sees the dock come closer into view. Time to ask the questions he needs to ask, before she’s back on her ship with her aforementioned crew and he misses the window to…

 

To do what, exactly? It occurs to him that maybe he doesn’t know.

 

Even still. Reyes sinks his fingers into one of his pockets, keeps his voice aloof. “How long have you been on Kadara this time?”

 

Ryder shrugs. “Haven’t left. We were planning on making a run to the Nexus, but got caught up with some business in the sulfur springs.”

 

His eyes slowly slide to her profile. “Oh?”

 

“Accidentally fell into a cave, cave turned out to be a stronghold for the Collective…” she waves her free hand. “Long story.”

 

Reyes’ heart seems to slow in his chest. “You...fell.”

 

“I’m, uh, still working out the jump jets.”

 

He watches her carefully, looking for a tell, a slip. Anything that implies she’s lying. Instead all he sees is her looking right back at him, head tilted.

 

“You okay?”

 

He forces himself to blink, to break whatever it is that’s washed over him. “I should be asking you that. The Collective can be ruthless.” But hopefully _silent_.

 

“It wasn’t a big deal. One of them was giving out false orders under the Charlatan’s name-”

 

He freezes, but recovers quickly.

 

“-so one of the...lieutenants? Head mooks? Whatever, asked us to look into it with SAM.”

 

“Which lieutenant?” He asks, cursing himself under his breath at the question. It’s given too much away-

 

-but Ryder continues, oblivious. “Crux? We ended up finding the traitor, running around in a cave, and then I got ambushed by some Adhi dogs.” She wrinkled her nose. “You know, standard.”

 

His mind is already racing through a thousand possibilities. “You found the traitor, then?”

 

“Yeah,” her voice softens. “Had to take her out, unfortunately.”

 

Reyes stares at her. “And that...was all?”

 

She sends him a quizzical look. “What, not impressed?”

 

What he is…

 

Is _relieved._ Elated. And there is something wrong with that, that his relief over not having to eliminate the Pathfinder takes precedence to someone attempting to use his moniker. But there it is, real and beating in his chest and forming in the curves of his lips.

 

“It is...not the average person who would help someone like the Charlatan,” he hedges.

 

Ryder starts toward the docking bay keycode. “I didn’t do it to help the Charlatan,” she explains, jutting her head over her shoulder, where the market lays behind them. “I did it to help out Kadara.”

 

The door to the docking bay slides open, behind it he sees Ryder’s ship. He-

 

-he doesn’t want her to go just yet. There’s still intel she could help him with. Details about the traitor or the base-

 

“Gotta run, or Liam will kill me. Good seeing you Reyes.”

 

 _Wait!_ He thinks.

 

“Always a good talk,” is what he says.

 

Ryder gives him a small wave goodbye over her shoulder, before the doors to the docking bay slide shut.

 

Reyes stands there, staring for a little too long. After a moment, he exhales, and lets go of the hold on his sidearm.

 

\--

 

He verifies her story through Keema. It checks out. Ryder has, somehow, done him and the Collective a favor.

 

He doesn’t know what to make of it. Of owing someone he needs. For work.

 

\--

 

 _The Tempest_ leaves out of Kadara Port the next morning, or so the eyes he has on it report. Reyes sits back against one of the sofas of one of his safe houses, eyes dark as he tries to think through implications.

 

Someone had been using his name without his permission, but worse, without his knowledge.

 

It bothered him that he did not know Ryder’s next move, that she had seen the inside of one of his strongholds--again, without his knowledge.

 

He is just about to pour himself a glass of something strong when a chime goes off at his wrist. Frowning, he taps on his omni-tool, unsurprised to see that it’s bad news.

 

Cargo is missing. _Expensive_ cargo.

 

Reyes takes a deep breath, ignores the glass, and leans the back of his head against the back of his sofa.

 

An old proverb comes to his mind, one his _abuela_ had been fond of, back on the Citadel.

 

“The devil you know is better than twenty you don’t,” he mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

 

Before he can stop himself, his fingers are typing again. A quick message, sent out before he can think through it quickly, to a private channel he, by all means, shouldn’t have access to:

 

_Ryder,_

_Stop by my room the next time you’re in Kadara. Could use a hand with something._

 

About ten seconds pass, before his omni-tool chimes again.

 

_Sure! We have to head back to Kadara anyway (grabbed the wrong popcorn D*X )_

 

He swallows, finding it hard to write a response back. In the end, he doesn’t compose one at all.

 

...maybe it’s for the best, he decides to himself, if it's Ryder who is the devil he knows.

 


End file.
